


Black Pits II: ELIMINATION

by Zhenta



Category: Baldur's Gate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24473872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhenta/pseuds/Zhenta
Summary: Gold, gladiators and gore! The Black Pits are running low on all of these, until one inspired idea turns the flagging venture around. Twenty-four competitors enter, only one takes home the grand prize of a million gold pieces. Feuds will form! Alliances will break! Romance is in the air (along with a surprising number of teeth!)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 8





	1. Reality Bites

Explosions rattled the roof as Edwin's captive gladiators strained to hear the blazing row above them.

"They're fighting again," moaned Aerie, covering her delicate elf-ears.

"You don't say?" Nalia snapped exasperatedly as electricity crackled along the rafters. The elf glared back at her fellow mage with huge watery eyes.

"You don't have to be so mean!" she whinged. "We're all in this together."

"All doomed together you mean," moaned a morose elf in tattered purple robes. "I swore never to leave Evereska again and the moment I did…"

"Cheer up mister grumpy pants!" Alora trilled cheerfully. "At least we all have each other!"

"Aye, until we meet in the arena ye wee strumpet," nodded Korgan, the group's sole volunteer. "Ah, but I could always keep a necklace of yer ears to remember ye by."

Surging heat followed by a shrill howl of rage told them that Edwin had directed yet another fireball at his unfortunate new business partner. Or vice-versa. They had not set up the pits that long ago but already their relationship was growing stale.

Upstairs, the drow sorcerer was capable of holding his own against the Red Wizard's wrath, but what he could not do was survive in Thay without his patron. Baeloth's last pit had been popular with Thayan tourists and he had assumed that winning them over in their homeland would be just as easy. He had assumed in error.

Now, however, Edwin had pushed too far and his partner had retaliated. He was looking at the drow in puppy-eyed disbelief.

"You singed my beard you slothful simian!" he whimpered, before correcting himself. "Drat it Odesseiron, do not fall into the trap of alliteration! His irritating mode of speech is contagious."

"Contagious, charming and cannily crafted," Baeloth beamed. "Please continue my combustible comrade."

Edwin scowled at him. He wondered about Baeloth sometimes, but there were more pressing issues to contend with.

"What are we going to do? We are down to fifteen monsters and twenty-three gladiators!" Edwin moaned despairingly. "With no gold to replace any of them. Not good gladiators either. Hardly any of them have sponsors."

"We could pitch dwarf on dwarf," Baeloth suggested. "They hate each other. Korgan and… what was the other one called again?"

"Yeslick," Edwin scowled, "And no you gibbering dog scrotum, we are not pitching our two best gladiators against each other because that means losing one of them, which we cannot afford."

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Without wanting to whine about the wretched web we've woven ourselves into," Baeloth said, raising a slender finger. "If we don't do something drastic to lure in the crowds we will lose _everything._ "

"This is all your fault you poncing commentator," snarled Edwin, not for the first time. "The punters don't like the stench of cheese that wafts over the arena whenever you open your mouth!"

"I am the ablest announcer in all of Toril!" Baeloth sneered. "If you would only supply some decent stock for me to work with…"

"It's you _and_ them! You are all parasites sucking at my golden teats!" bellowed Edwin. He paused and wrinkled his nose. Even to him it sounded wrong. "You are so disliked and the gladiators are so inept, that the only way I could draw a large audience would be if I offered to have _you_ butchered."

The round of snickers from downstairs was so loud that it carried to the ears of the feuding mages. Edwin stomped on the floor bad-temperedly as though stamping on their heads.

"The rabble certainly relish your raging," Baeloth observed archly. "Your arguing is most entertaining to their brutish ears. If only we could sell tickets to that."

Edwin froze rigid. He looked up slowly, lacing his fingers together.

"Maybe we could…" he murmured. "Yes Odesseiron, the dark elf deadweight has unwittingly unearthed the solution…"

"What do you suggest my pernicious patron?" Baeloth asked eagerly.

"Instead of fighting we will have them perform tasks. Challenges," Edwin explained as his idea took root in his mind and began to blossom. "Challenges designed to foster alliances and create conflict. We will allow the audience to get to know the gladiators, to bond with them personally…"

"Whatever for?"

"It will keep them coming back. Oh yes. Week after week. They will want to know the fates of their favourites and watch their villains fail."

"If they bond with them won't they be upset when their eviscerated entrails erupt over the earth?"

"Imbecile! The gladiators won't die during these trials!" Edwin exclaimed. "At least most of them won't. That's the whole point! We could recycle the same gladiators again and again!"

Baeloth's lip was curling. It was clear he thought little of the plan.

"And what incentive will these cretins have to perform absent the threat of mutilation?"

Edwin considered this.

"Gold."

Baeloth scoffed.

"Enough gold even to get the elite of Thay hot beneath the collar. One hundred-"

"You don't _have_ one hundred."

"MILLION GOLD PIECES!"

Have you lost what little clarity clings on to your cracked cranium?!" cried Baeloth. "You couldn't borrow a tenth of such a sum! Not if you put down your own manhood as collateral!"

"There will be no need for that!" gloated Edwin malevolently. Baeloth did not like the way the Thayan was suddenly eyeing him up. "I'll fix it so that my _own champion_ wins the final challenge! Twenty-four enter! All of them leave, but only one will leave with one million gold pieces. Come for the violence, stay for the drama! We'll call it The Black Pits II: ELIMINATION!"

"Twenty-four?" protested Baeloth. "Have you forgotten how to count as well? We only have twenty-three!"

"This verbally incontinent headlouse can question my numeracy, but in the end I believe he will find," Edwin purred to himself, "That I have twenty- _four._ "


	2. Round I: Takedwin's Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> **ELIMINATED:** None
> 
>  **REMAINING CONTESTANTS:** Baeloth the Entertainer, Minsc, Hexxat, Neera, Zaviak, Aerie, Hayes, Voghiln, King Gramm, Tiax, Alora, Kivan, Yeslick, Branwen, Garrick, Faldorn, Quayle, Xan, Korgan, Shar-Teel, Nalia, Cernd, Haer'Dalis, Jan
> 
> * * *

"What fresh hell is this?" sighed Xan, catching sight of his own name and flinching.

"Did I, like, overdo it on the pipe again," drawled Zaviak, "Or is Baeloth listed as a contestant?"

Sure enough, moments after the large flashing sign announcing their names appeared, so too did Baeloth. The drow looked rather small and sad. His ears drooped pathetically.

"Now then Odesseiron…" Edwin's magically amplified voice reverberated around the dining hall, "How to explain your vision in a language these uncultured cave slugs will understand? Ah yes… who would like the chance to win ONE MILLION GOLD COINS?"

There was silence. Shar-Teel spoke for them all by snorting her soup through her nostrils in derision. A tiny hamster, who had been swimming around in his human's cold broth, emitted a series of mocking squeaks.

"Boo does not believe that you _have_ one million gold coins," announced Minsc, fishing the hamster out and draining his soup bowl. He plopped it back onto the table with a thud that made the surrounding spoons wobble. "And Minsc agrees."

"Curses! The cretins have spotted the one flaw in my grand design. That wretch Baeloth must have told them!" Edwin muttered angrily. Baeloth stopped sulking and his head jerked up sharply. "Very well. Who here would like to win their FREEDOM?"

This offer met with a smattering of real interest, though not from Xan who had no hope that his fellow mage would honour his word.

"Then prepare yourselves for the Black Pits 2: ELIMINATION!" Edwin announced, materializing before them with a flourish. Many of the gladiators would have taken this opportunity to tear Edwin and Baeloth to shreds, but they knew from experience that this was not an option. Powerful magic woven into the walls of this building prevented them from fighting their oppressors or even each other outside of the pits.

That evening the pit was lit up with dramatic flaming torches. A handful of patrons were lurking in the stands though most of them were engaged in their own conversations. Before them lay…

"Is this a joke?" Garrick ventured after a long silence.

It was an obstacle course. First a climbing wall, followed by a balancing beam and a series of stepping stones. Beyond this lay a net and a wide pit crossable only by monkey bars which led to rotating logs, leading finally to the winners' podium. Perching in the commentator's box where Baeloth would normally be, stood Edwin. He looked resplendent tonight in scarlet and golden robes.

"Welcome to round one of our competition," the wizard beamed. "Twenty-four competitors! Only one will scoop the grand prize! Who shall it be? The enigmatic tiefling? The daring dwarves or the cunning gnomes?"

"His oratory is nothing but odious offal," Baeloth seethed resentfully.

"Or will it be our undead tomb raider?" Edwin went on. He waved his hands and a latch clicked nearby.

Out stumbled Hexxat. She looked unwell. Dark bags bulged beneath her sunken eyes, which were turned hungrily on her fellow competitors. Edwin's budget had never stretched to supplying her with human victims, but these last few weeks even animal blood had been out of his price range. She had been locked in a cell by herself, wracked with hunger, with nothing but the occasional rat for sustenance.

"The rules are as follows!" Edwin cried. "The first one to make it to the winners' podium wins immunity from elimination in the next round. Everyone else who makes it to the podium goes through to tomorrow's challenge. The audience will vote off one contestant from the pool of losers using the magical buttons located under their seats. Some of our competitors already have sponsors. You will receive your advantages now!"

There was a sparkle of magical energy. Springy wooden poles appeared in the hands of Korgan, Baeloth and (to everybody's astonishment) Xan. The others were armed with nothing but the clothes on their backs and in one man's case a hamster, which had mysteriously evaded confiscation.

Edwin laced his fingers together and smirked down at them.

"Ready, set, GO YOU CRETINS!"

They surged forward onto the balancing beams, knocking each other off in their eagerness to get ahead. Baeloth and Korgan had a superb advantage, using their sticks not only for balance but for whacking the shins of their fellow competitors. Xan watched forlornly until the eager first-wave had crossed before morosely picking his way across the beam by himself.

Halfway across, a scream from behind him almost made him lose his balance. Hexxat had snatched Zaviak and plunged her fangs into his pulsating neck. Feeling that the wild mage may have been fortunate to be taken out of the game so early, Xan sighed and carried on.

"STOP!" howled Edwin, clutching his hood. "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES! DISQUALIFIED! DISQUALIFIED!"

To his fury, the audience were starting to chuckle. A couple were clapping him sarcastically. Edwin recognized one mage as having come from the Order of the Eight Staves. He wondered if any of them were really there to watch the action, or if they had simply paid to gloat over his own failure.

A teleportation ring glowed cyan around the vampire, whisking her back into her cage. She howled in disappointed fury, but her cries soon turned to groans. There was something very peculiar about the wild mage's blood. With a gasp, Aerie dropped from the beam and ran to heal Zaviak. Minsc followed her, and not far behind scurried a fretful little gnome who kept muttering to himself.

Korgan and Baeloth were powering ahead. Having sticks to test the stability of the stones and knock their rivals into the water meant that they completed the second part of the course long before anyone else. The net posed little challenge, but once they reached the monkey bars the poles had to be abandoned.

This was one part of the course that Edwin had not thought through carefully enough, for the bars were set too high for the gnomes and dwarves to reach. Korgan used his stick as a pole vault to get the height he needed but Yeslick, Alora, King Gramm, Tiax and Jan were all forced to give up. Hayes, Neera and Nalia were also defeated through a combination of slippery wet hands (from where Korgan had knocked them off the stepping stones) and low upper body strength. The others all stumbled across.

Zaviak, healed but out of the running, lay moaning on the ground. Realising that there was no more they could do for him, Aerie, Minsc and Quayle pressed ahead. Gnome and elf ran into the same problems as the others when they reached the bars but Minsc allowed them both to cling to his great frame. All three might have made it to the winners' podium, if only he had not realised halfway across that he was missing Boo.

"We must go back!" he declared, swinging one armed and swirling them all about.

"No you baboon!" Quayle squeaked. "Listen to your intellectual betters!"

He kicked Minsc sharply in what he thought was his thigh, but turned out to be his groin. Minsc grunted, turned purple and released the bars, balling up on the way down. All three crashed out of the game landing unhurt (or in Minsc's case no _more_ hurt) in a high-walled pit below.

The spectators were really laughing now. True, they were ridiculing the performance rather than being impressed by it but, Edwin considered, perhaps it did not matter. The point was that they were enjoying themselves. His gladiators commanded their full attention now. His customers were leaning forward in their seats and none of them were chattering amongst themselves.

The main race was still on. Korgan and Baeloth were sprinting over the rotating logs as fast as they could go. The sorcerer paused to buff himself with a spell, but this cost him precious seconds and the ill-tempered dwarf beat him to the winners' podium.

"Korgan wins immunity in the next round!" Edwin announced, adding; "The pestilent runt!"

Baeloth stumbled onto the winners' podium beside the dwarf, who was performing a thrusting victory dance in celebration. He sat down sulkily, long legs dangling over the edge, but at least finishing the course guaranteed him a place in the next round.

Shortly afterward, a nimble elfin ranger dropped from the rotating log and landed beside him.

"An impressive performance from Kivan, but will his ranger skills earn him sponsorship in the next stage of our competition?" Edwin hinted unsubtly. The elf glared up at him, itching with every fibre of his being to wrap his hands about the Thayan's throat.

"Branwen, Shar-Teel, Haer'Dalis," Edwin listed as one by one the successful competitors arrived onto the winners' podium. "Voghiln, Garrick, Faldorn, Cernd and… hurry up you idle scrounger we do not have all day! How this whining maggot managed to attract a patron…"

Xan ignored him and continued his slow and careful progress to the end of the course, grimacing in misery as the monkey bars hurt his arms, tripping several times in the net and sighing in despair at the sight of the rotating log, which he nevertheless managed to shuffle across.

"…and _finally_ Xan," Edwin snarled, laying an unfriendly emphasis on the word _finally_. "Eleven of you are safe. Twelve of you would have been up for elimination but since Hexxat has been disqualified from this competition…"

There were shouts of protest from the very small audience.

"'Ere! You promised us a vote!"

"I want a vote!"

"…as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted!" Edwin retorted. Baeloth pinched the bridge of his nose. The Thayan really wasn't announcer material. "Since Hexxat has been disqualified, two competitors will be eliminated tonight. You may vote for the second NOW!"

* * *

**Patrons of Thay! Who do you want to see ELIMINATED?**

**VOTE NOW FOR: Minsc,** **Neera** , **Zaviak** , **Aerie,** **Hayes,** **King Gramm, Tiax, Alora** , **Yeslick,** **Quayle** , **Nalia** , **Jan**

(Votes cost one gold piece per entry. Cost of voting using magic may vary and votes cast by carrier pigeon will be considerably more.)


	3. Round II: Tiger King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> **ELIMINATED:** Hexxat (disqualified)
> 
> **REMAINING CONTESTANTS:** Baeloth the Entertainer, Minsc, Neera, Zaviak, Aerie, Hayes, Voghiln, King Gramm, Tiax, Alora, Kivan, Yeslick, Branwen, Garrick, Faldorn, Quayle, Xan, Korgan, Shar-Teel, Nalia, Cernd, Haer'Dalis, Jan  
> 

"The votes are in!" Edwin declared, "And the first contestant to be eliminated by vote is…" he checked his crystal ball and frowned. "The vacuous dolts all voted for different gnomes! _Now_ what am I supposed to do?"

"Tie-breaker!" Baeloth mouthed from the pit, pointing his slender fingers at the trembling gnomes. Edwin smoothed his robes and puffed himself out importantly.

"Since my noble and appreciated patrons have not reached a consensus," he declared, "I will choose between the three put forward by the viewers for elimination. King Gramm, Jan… can you step forward when I call your names so that I know who you are? All gnomes look the same to me."

There was a collective groan from the contestants.

"Woah, dude, not cool," drawled Zaviak, massaging the puncture wounds on his neck.

"You… you really mustn't say things like that!" Aerie squeaked up at Edwin bravely. "It's racist!"

Edwin narrowed his dark eyes and treated her to a thin-lipped smile.

"…and Quayle."

"NO!" Aerie cried. "No, please, eliminate me instead!"

"There will be no eliminationing of my witch!" Minsc declared, raising a cautionary finger with one hand. The other was clutched about his injured bits. He was feeling decidedly less protective of Quayle.

"Now, now dear," the old gnome said kindly, patting Aerie's hand. "Your uncle Quayle came all this way to find you after all. I wouldn't want you to be eliminated on my account."

"Ack! Fer Slophammer's sake, yer bein' booted from a competition yer destined to lose anyways, not executed!" the victor's impatient voice drifted down from the winner's podium. "Enough with yer theatrics."

"Our feculent dwarf could not have put it better," Edwin agreed. "Will somebody pull the last gnome out of the pit? The rest of you are safe. Remaining gnomes! Tell me why you should stay in the competition?"

"King Gramm commands it!" the wild-mage gnome replied, preening.

No sooner had he made his proclamation than another gnome, so similar that they might have been the same character, cannoned into the side of him, knocking him to the ground.

"There is but one king in this arena! Tiax! Tiax will rule all!"

The gnomes promptly began rolling about the ground like scuffling ferrets, tiny fists flying. Edwin's audience chuckled and the mage made a mental note to give these two every opportunity to clash in subsequent rounds. The fight ended when Neera, Hayes and Zaviak, the remaining wild mages intervened on King Gramm's behalf. Tiax slunk away muttering curses and sporting a split lip.

"A more compelling argument than I was expecting from any of you against elimination," Edwin conceded. "The remaining deadweight will have a hard time topping that. Quayle, I see you have emerged from the pit. You next."

"People of Thay," the gnome appealed in a squeaky voice, and he launched at once into Aerie's sob story. "I am here for her, my poor lost Aerie. I know it would have meant the world to her to see me here and I'm doing this for her… I know she's looking down on me…"

This was perfectly true. Now that they were both out of the pit, Aerie could hardly help but look down on Uncle Quayle, being almost double his height.

"A heart-breaking story," Edwin noted sourly. "And Jan?"

"If it's sad stories you need to keep me in the competition, did I ever tell you about my Great-Uncle Edson? He kept a two-story turnip shop in the South-West section of Baldur's Gate on Wolf Street. Interestingly enough it used to be called Wall Street (on account of it being built under the city walls) until that business with the Dragonspear war, but that's another story. Anyway, all of the shops were shut down by the Grand Dukes on the grounds of city health code violations. An infestation of kobold lice, nasty business. Got into one store and spread through the street like a fire. Or a fiery rash anyway. Poor Edson lost everything, completely down on his luck. He had to flee the city to escape his creditors and who should he run into but a rather fetching blonde by the name of Baelnip? Well poor Great-Uncle Edson was quite taken with Baelnip, until he lifted up her skirt on the wedding night and lo and behold…"

"You. It's you. You're eliminated." Edwin snapped suddenly. He held up his hands to the crowd. "Any objections?"

There were no objections. Two of the audience had grown bored during the rambling tale and wandered off, another had fallen asleep on her husband's shoulder and one was drumming his fingernails on the seat in front of him impatiently.

"But I didn't finish my story!" Jan objected. "There, right before Great-Uncle Edson's eyes, was dangling the most _enormous…"_

**BOOM!**

A fireball, flung from the commentary box, hit the pit like a meteor engulfing Jan and leaving nothing in its wake but a smoking crater. Edwin sat down slowly brushing soot from his palms.

"Nicely done Odesseiron. Takes care of that problem. Gladiators! You have one full day to prepare for your next challenge."

The surviving gladiators trooped, slightly shell-shocked back into the barracks. Aerie was clutching Quayle protectively, and Baeloth was muttering angrily that what Edwin had just done utterly defeated the point of this new venture. If he was going to murder the contestants in a fit of temper, he ought to let them fight to the death and spare himself the expense of building an obstacle course.

The following evening the number of patrons remained roughly the same. Two had not come back, but one of the ones who had brought a friend. Edwin's obstacle course had been dismantled and replaced with a new one. It looked much easier, consisting only of a wide seesaw, a short swimming pool and a series of hoops, but hammered into the sand were five wooden stakes. Each stake had a thick metal chain and straining on the ends of them were five starving tigers.

"Tonight our contestants will face their wildest challenge yet!" Edwin promised.

"We're all going to die," whispered Xan, screwing his eyes shut.

"YOU CAN DO IT MY PRECIOUS PRINCESS!" shrieked a voice from the audience. Xan's eyes shot open again, only for the world to suddenly turn dark and purple. A fishy smell, oddly familiar, filled his nostrils.

"Help! I'm blind! The end has come!" Xan moaned.

The lilac blur lifted from his vision. Aerie held up a frilly purple object, giggling.

"They're… they're…" she lowered her voice to a whisper. " _Knickers!"_ Xan turned pale.

"Unwashed knickers," he said weakly.

"Er… could I have them if you don't want them?" Garrick ventured, only to find himself being cuffed about the ear by Shar-Teel.

"All men are pigs!" she grunted. "I suppose you want them for some perverted purpose?"

"It's not that," mumbled Garrick as the nearest tiger sniffed at him, licking her chops. "It's just that I think I'm going to be needing a replacement pair."

"They're not clean, you realise," sighed Xan.

"They're cleaner than mine," replied Garrick emphatically, as the tiger pulled at its chain.

"Contestants!" Edwin cut the discussion short. "You will be assigned to teams. Each team will be given one tiger to guide through the obstacle course. Points will be given out of ten for speed and completing all parts of the course. Points will be deducted for physical injury to yourselves or the animals. The teams are as follows:

Team 1: Baeloth, Cernd, Faldorn and Alora.

Team 2: Aerie, Voghiln, Kivan, Yeslick

Team 3: Korgan, Shar-Teel, Hayes, Haer'Dalis, Tiax

Team 4: Minsc, Neera, King Gramm, Branwen, Nalia

Team 5: Quayle, Zaviak, Garrick, Xan

Those of you with sponsors will receive your advantages now!"

Whips materialized in the hands of Baeloth, Xan and Minsc. The ranger stared at his in dismay. It was not in Minsc's nature to beat helpless animals. Xan gave his whip an experimental flick, but ended up hurling himself into the dirt to evade the recoil. His whip slipped from his grasp and slunk harmlessly to the ground.

"Whipping animals man," Zaviak rebuked his teammate for even considering it. "So not cool."

"Quayle, you were with the circus for a while weren't you?" Xan asked bleakly. "Any ideas?"

Not all of the teams needed ideas. Baeloth had not only been provided with a whip (which the drow was more than willing and able to use) but had been deliberately teamed up with the two druids _and_ provided with the only tame tiger. Soon the stripy beast was prancing across the balance beam like it had been practising since kittenhood (which it had) and leaping gracefully through the hoops.

Edwin, however, had no interest in the subtleties of different druidic cults. As such he had not anticipated the danger of pairing Faldorn with Cernd and midway through the performance he regretted threatening to take marks off for injury.

"Collaborating with those who desecrate nature makes you no better than a tree-feller yourself!" hissed the shadow druid.

"I have heard enough of your ravings in the barracks," replied Cernd. "I have no interest in hearing them again in the pit."

"Perhaps not, but the difference between the bunks and the pits," whispered Faldorn, with a glassy smile, "Is that here there is nothing to stop me from backing up my words with force!"

Without warning a bolt of lightning pierced the sky, which Cernd barely deflected. He transformed into a wolf with a howl of fury, bowling over Faldorn who summoned roots from the earth to entangle him.

All of this spooked the tame tiger, who was a gentle creature, and even with Baeloth's whip at its stripy bottom, it fumbled the last hoop.

"Leave it, leave it!" pleaded Alora, as Edwin was forced to give the group an 8/10 and Baeloth raised his whip in fury. "We might miss out on immunity but we'll make it through to the next round on a score of 8."

"Team 2," muttered Edwin, folding his arms petulantly.

"Sing to it Voghiln," suggested Kivan.

"Ah, music to sooth the savage beast, ja?"

"I was thinking more that it might bound across the obstacle course in the hope of getting away," the elf replied unkindly. Tiger number 2 proved an obstinate creature. Kivan found it quite relatable. It refused to jump through any hoops but with some gentle coaxing and little help from his teammates, Kivan managed to persuade it to the end of the course. Edwin gave them a grudging 6/10.

Team 3 were a disaster. Their tiger was a particularly large and aggressive specimen and it looked famished enough to feast on its fellow tigers, never mind the so-called tamers. Deprived of his axe and knowing that he had immunity from winning the last round, Korgan boldly declared that he wanted nothing to do with it and strolled casually to the side of the arena.

"Pig!" screamed Shar-Teel. "Useless male! Take your miniscule manhood and run."

"Miniscule? Now I kinnae let that stand," retorted Korgan, dropping his pants to demonstrate the error of her assumptions. The audience groaned. Shar-Teel spat in disgust, to which the dwarf replied by mooning her.

"Pity he didn't stay," Haer'Dalis remarked lightly. "That's quite the sausage our dwarf has there. We could have used him as bait."

"Not a bad idea… for a male," Shar-Teel replied shrewdly. "I believe I will use it."

"I shall not stand in your way," the actor replied dreamily, "The forces of entropy shall destroy us all in the end, and it is for us to expediate it where we can and marvel at the process. Who shall it be then? The cockerel or the jackdaw?"

Shar-Teel's eyes flickered from Tiax to Hayes.

"Has to be Hayes. The gnome won't be able to run fast enough."

"I suspect neither will Hayes, my wyvern, but he does seem narratively expendable," the bard remarked.

"What? N- n- n- n-" the wild mage panicked, as Shar-Teel scratched his cheek to draw blood, seized him by the scruff of the neck and dangled him tantalizingly close to the hungry tiger's nose. Everyone else backed away.

"Now lead it through the obstacle course, male," she instructed, dropping him and unclipping the tiger from the pole.

Hayes fled. He made it across the seesaw but only because it took her a minute to release the chain. The tiger caught up to him in the pool and they both disappeared as the water turned red with his blood. There was a great deal of splashing and bubbling, but shortly after the tiger dragged him out. It was clear that no amount of healing spells would help.

Neera screamed at the loss of one of her wild mages, cursed all Thayans and started sending spells flying uselessly against the walls of the pits.

"Dude, that is _messed up_ ," said Zaviak, as the tiger settled down to enjoy its meal.

"You do realise that will be us in five minutes time?" groaned Xan.

"You incompetent worms failed to guide your tiger to the end of the course _and_ ignored what I said about physical injury!" Edwin screeched. "One point to team 3 and that is only because you fed the tiger for me!"

Tiger number 4 was scarcely more compliant. Neera, in her distress, suffered a wild surge causing the tiger to transform into a regular cat. This was safer but, being a cat, it refused to cooperate with them on principle and curled up for a nap. Even Boo could not entice it to lift its lazy head. Minsc's team were awarded a score of 3/10, but since nobody actually got eaten, this was still enough to beat team Shar-Teel.

Finally it was Xan's team's turn to unleash their tiger, but when they did the brute barely moved. It rolled over onto its back, staring up dopily at its thick padded paws and turning them this way and that.

"What's it doing?" frowned Garrick.

"My academically superior background leads me to deduce that there is something wrong with it," Quayle said pompously.

"Nah dudes. She's fine. I just gave her a sniff of my herbs." Zaviak drawled. He looked even more vacant than usual and it struck Xan that the tiger may have had to share.

"WHAT?!" Edwin thundered. "You weren't supposed to have _anything_ on you when you entered the pit! How did you get those wretched ferns in here?"

Zaviak gave his captor a slow, mellow wave

"Where there's a will there's a way man," he told him wisely. "Where there's a will there's a way."

"In solving one problem we have merely caused another," Xan said mournfully, trying and failing to urge the tiger to move.

Without warning, the tiger turned her fuzzy face toward him and in slow motion she tried to bite his arm off. Xan yelled and pulled it out of the way. Moments later the tiger's jaws snapped shut on empty air with a _click._

"Hey! Looks like somebody has a case of the munchies!" Zaviak grinned. Xan buried his face into his palms and groaned. "No man, we can use this. We just need something to tempt it with."

"Preferably something with a strong scent. Cats locate their food by smell," suggested Quayle. "Of course, you non-intellectuals wouldn't know that."

The team thought for a moment, interrupted only by Edwin's passive-aggressive coughing and drumming of fingernails from the commentary box.

"Well…" Xan ventured. "We do have these?"

"The panties!" Garrick cried, holding aloft their purple, lacey and pungent prize. "Genius!"

Xan blushed.

"Let's hope she likes fish!"

Finally finding a use for the whip, he tied the end to the hem of the knickers and used it to wiggle them temptingly at the tiger from a safe distance. The beast reached for them idly, but Xan tugged them just out of reach.

Slowly, very slowly, tiger number 5 lumbered to her feet to pursue what she may have imagined to be a salmon supper (though given her current state of mind it was difficult to be certain _what_ the tiger was thinking). She was only slow for a tiger. Xan was still forced to run to keep the prize from her claws.

Over the balance beam, hovering above the pool water. He tried, and failed to ignore Tiger 3, which was still chowing down on the unfortunate Hayes. Tiger 5 looked over at the body with interest, and for a moment Xan thought all was lost, but then #3 bared its fangs and growled. His own tiger considered the larger animal for a moment before deciding to settle for the panties.

One hoop… two hoops… three hoops… perfect!

The tiger landed neatly, pinning down the fishy underwear. Xan dropped the whip gratefully before retreating to a safe distance. When he looked back his tiger was lying down again, chewing on the purple panties with a contented expression.

Edwin was far from wanting them to outscore Baeloth, but it was too blatant a victory to try to snatch it from them. He made a mental note to make sure that next time the magical barriers around the pits would prevent things being thrown _in_ as well as _out._

"Team 5 are the victors!" Edwin groused. "Xan, Zaviak, Garrick and Quayle are immune from elimination in the next round. Tonight in the pool of losers we have team 3. I will remind you that despite his team's abysmal performance, Korgan is immune from elimination this round. That leaves Shar-Teel, Haer'Dalis and Tiax! I would vote for all of them at once if I could, but you good citizens will have to make a choice. Who amongst this cesspit of inbred slobbishness stands out as the most objectionable? Cast your votes now!"

* * *

**Patrons of Thay! Who do you want to see ELIMINATED?**

**VOTE NOW FOR: Shar-Teel, Haer'Dalis or Tiax!**

(Voting will remain open until an unspecified date selected by the directors of the production. Votes cast after this arbitrary cut-off point will not be counted but may still be charged.)


	4. Round III: Getting Scwifty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **ELIMINATED:** Hexxat (disqualified), Jan (incinerated), Hayes (eaten by a tiger)
> 
> **REMAINING CONTESTANTS:** Baeloth the Entertainer, Minsc, Neera, Zaviak, Aerie, Voghiln, King Gramm, Tiax, Alora, Kivan, Yeslick, Branwen, Garrick, Faldorn, Quayle, Xan, Korgan, Shar-Teel, Nalia, Cernd, Haer’Dalis  
>   
> 

“Two votes for Haer’Dalis, three votes for Shar-Teel… Shar-Teel is ELIMINATED!” Edwin announced.

Shar-Teel spat on the arena floor and bared her teeth at the audience, looking far more menacing than any of the tigers. Hoping that the prize of freedom might be his, and realising how close he had come to elimination, Haer’Dalis pulled Baeloth aside before bed.

“If I have grasped our situation correctly from your angry ranting, my vulture-like friend,” the tiefling began, “The purpose of this competition was purportedly to preserve your dwindling supply of surviving gladiators. Am I correct?”

“Indeed, imp,” Baeloth sneered. “I’ll ignore your idiotic inference that we are friends. Your insipid attempt to ingratiate yourself is irritating me.”

“Then I shall get to the point,” Haer’Dalis drew himself up in as business-like a way as the thespian could manage. “So far one contestant has been incinerated, another eaten by a tiger and a third only just survived a vampire attack. Two deaths in two rounds. That’s exactly the same death rate as standard pit fighting, surely?”

“It had hardly escaped my notice,” replied the drow sourly. “But this ill-conceived venture was not my suggestion.”

Haer’Dalis laced his fingers around Baeloth’s arm and herded him gently into the side corridor leading to the privy pits. Out of sight of the others, he leaned in, torchlight glinting from his eager face.

“Supposing you took a different approach, my vulture?” he suggested. “The audience have seen us all face off in physical challenges already. How about a _talent_ contest instead?”

Baeloth blinked at him, blankly.

“I propose a singing competition!” cried Haer’Dalis. “Who has the voice? Who has the X-factor? Who’s got talent?”

The drow paused for a moment, then threw back his silver head, filling the hall with high-pitched laughter. Haer’Dalis folded his arms and scowled, until the other man had finished.

“I certainly see why _you_ would want that, my blustering bard,” replied Baeloth, wiping a tear from his eye. “But everybody else? By the tentacle rods, have you heard how some of the others sing when they’ve had an ale or two? A crescendo of calamitous cacophony! A discordant din of dissonance!”

“A facile first-place finish for the fortunate few with a flair for theatrics,” countered Haer’Dalis in a mean-spirited but accurate imitation of Baeloth. “Or, for instance, a talented sorcerer who could enchant his own voice.”

Baeloth paused.

“You make an interesting point.”

“It would guarantee us safety for another round, vulture, and win us some sponsors.”

“An attractive proposition to allure admirers,” mused Baeloth. He twirled a strand of silver hair around his long, clever fingers. “It would be an audacious act to attempt but it would cost us audience. Some of the acts _will_ be atrocious.”

“It will be the bad singers that make it worth watching,” replied the tiefling with a sly grin. “Once, whilst travelling the planes, I came upon a hellscape dominated by a particularly sadistic demon lord. He has invented an art form known as karaoke. Let me tell you how it works…”

So it was that the following evening the contestants found themselves faced with something far more terrifying than tigers. A stage.

Up in the commentator’s box sat Edwin, but he was not alone. To his left, one wrist chained to her chair, perched Hexxat. She was emaciated and twitching slightly. Every so often her eyes drifted hungrily to Edwin’s throat, but she couldn’t reach him. On his right-hand side, similarly restrained sat Shar-Teel, who was looking sulky.

In the pit, Minsc raised his hand. The Red Wizard’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes?” he asked in a soft, dangerous voice.

“Boo would like to request no more cat challenges after last night,” Minsc informed him. “He says that it discriminates against Giant Miniature Space Hamsters by putting them at an unfair disadvantage.” There was a frosty pause. “ _Are_ there cats in tonight’s challenge?”

“Tonight’s challenge is singing! Singing you spawn of a granite brick and the village idiot!” Edwin blasted. “I want you all to sing!”

Minsc raised the hamster to his ear, then stepped back beaming.

“Boo says that is alright then. He has an exceptional ear for music.”

“Tonight’s rules are simple!” Edwin declared, opting to ignore Minsc from this point on. “You will sing before this panel a song of your own choosing. I and my two fellow judges will award you a thumbs up or a thumbs down. Three thumbs up will win you immunity in the next round. Three thumbs down and you will find yourself cast into the pool of losers. Haer’Dalis has volunteered to go first!”

The tiefling made an agile leap onto the stage and bowed before the audience.

“Since _none_ of these woeful flops has managed to secure a sponsor we can beging straight away,” Edwin scowled, though he was pleased to note that the stands were a little less empty than they had been the night before. He folded his fingers together carefully and narrowed his eyes at the competitors. “Show me what you’ve got. I want to see what you’ve got.”

Haer’Dalis launched into a love song, strumming his lute. Though he sang it well, the tune was rather dreary, but he made up for it by making sultry eye contact with ladies of Thay. Every so often he shot a discrete look at Aerie, who flushed.

“The tiefling possesses some low cunning after all,” remarked Edwin, “Every woman in the stands thinks that he’s singing to her.”

“He’s taking too long,” advised Hexxat, whose teeth were chattering with bloodlust. “If they all sing for that long we’ll be here till midnight. The audience will get bored.”

Edwin suspected that she just wanted to get it over with so she could eat. He had promised her a nibble of one of the tigers tonight if she cooperated. Still, she had a point. He held up his hands and Haer’Dalis song spluttered out.

“It is a ‘yes’ from me,” he declared.

“And a yes from me,” sighed Hexxat.

“No from me.” Shar-Teel said firmly. The other two stared at her aghast. Biased though he was, even Edwin could not deny that the tiefling had the voice of a cherub, but this was not enough to impress Shar-Teel. “That slimy male pig is the reason I lost my place in the competition. His voice is like nails down a blackboard.”

Zaviak was up next. He tripped over the hem of his robes on the way to the stage, and when he got there, he twiddled his thumbs nervously despite having immunity from his team winning the previous round.

“I, like, erm… I only know one song man… It’s kind of an improv…”

“Sing it then,” snarled Edwin menacingly. The wild mage cleared his throat.

_“I was gonna be a vampire’s snack,_

_But then I got high. Ooh, ooh._

_I couldn’t fend off her attack,_

_Because I got high._

_Now the dead girl’s tripping on my blood, and I know why,_

_Because I got high, because I got high, because I got high._

_I was gonna tame a tiger for you,_

_But then I got high. Ooh, ooh._

_Run an obstacle course or two,_

_But then I got high._

_Now I ain’t got no sponsors and I know why,_

_Because I got high, because I got high, because I got high._

_I was gonna sing a better song,_

_But then I got high. Ooh, ooh._

_It was never meant to be this long,_

_But then I got high._

_I’m gonna be voted out soon, and I know why,_

_Because I got high, because I got high, because I got high._

By the time he reached the last verse, the audience were swaying along in their seats and chanting along to the last line. Edwin and Hexxat’s thumbs were already up. Shar-Teel’s, predictably, was down.

“Useless male scum,” she snapped. “At least Hayes managed to be a decent meal, you couldn’t even do that.”

“It’s true Zaviak. You tasted terrible,” Hexxat added fairly.

Aerie and Nalia sang tolerably well. The circus had tried to teach the avariel to sing after she lost her wings and Nalia had received some lessons from her aunt, though neither had much natural talent. Neither earned immunity, but thanks to Shar-Teel’s determination to thumbs-up any woman and thumbs-down any man, both made it safely through to the next round. Next up was Voghiln, who unleashed a mighty skaldic ballad which, had it not been for his possession of certain dangly parts, would certainly had earned him immunity. As it was, he too had to settle for a mere pass.

Edwin was starting to fret that nobody would sing well enough for immunity or badly enough to be eliminated, but as it turned out he needn’t have worried. Branwen delivered a Northern ode quite similar to Voghiln’s in enthusiasm, but tone deaf. Even Shar-Teel could not defend her, and she was sent storming to the pool of losers.

Korgan took her place on the podium, cleared his throat, smoothed his beard and sang something which, alas dear reader, I cannot relay to you in full without the censors of Baldur’s Gate permanently banning my work.

_Awww yeeeaaaaah,_

_You gotta get *****_

_You gotta eat ****** in here!_

_It’s time to lick ***** *****._

_Oh, oh._

_You gotta suck ******_

_Oh yeah!_

_Take off your robes and your long johns!_

_Shit on the floor!_

_Time to get ****** in here!_

“I’ve heard enough!” shrieked Edwin. It was fortunate for Korgan that the wizard had been provoked into blocking things entering the pit in the last round. Otherwise he might have met the same fiery end as Jan. Other items were bouncing off the magical barrier as the booing crowd tried to pelt Korgan with shoes and rocks. “Thumbs down!”

“In all the centuries that I have walked this squalid world, in all the vile lands I have visited, nothing has disgusted me quite so much as your song Korgan,” Hexxat shuddered, turning her thumb down too.

“Only a male could conjure up such filth!” riled Shar-Teel.

“Eat my butt truffles yeh tone-deaf hag!” Korgan retorted.

“Korgan joins Branwen in the pool of losers, and deservedly so!” Edwin snapped. “Next up we have Garrick!”

Knowing that with Shar-Teel on the panel there was no chance of earning immunity, and that he was safe for now having won the previous round, Garrick chose to sing a ditty of his own composition entitled Ode to Thorg. It was a piece that Edwin was familiar with, for he featured in it heavily. It painted him in a most unflattering light and by the end of it the audience were heaving with laughter, while Edwin was fuming.

“Our noble patrons seemed to enjoy your song,” hissed Edwin. “I hope for your sake at least one of them likes it enough to sponsor you, else I do not foresee you lasting long in this competition. Nor indeed in this world.”

Alora followed Garrick. She too had featured in the bard’s song as Edwin’s alleged mistress and it was perhaps for this reason that, despite her mediocre, singing the Thayan was alone in letting her through to the next round. Neera scraped a pass, though only just. Her voice was not too bad but she forgot half of the words and started whistling midway through.

“King Gramm!”

_The gods save my noble me,_

_Who doth so graciously,_

_Reign o’er you all._

_Handsome and strong and true,_

_Better than all of you,_

_Though that is not so hard to do,_

_The gods saaaaave me._

Unsurprisingly, given the ego of the average Thayan, this earned him no favour with the crowd and King Gramm became the third contestant to find himself in the pool of losers, with Tiax closely on his tail for this offering:

_Tiaxstan is the greatest country in the world!_

_All other countries are run by little girls._

_Tiaxstan number one producer of illithium,_

_All other countries have inferior illithium!_

_Tiaxstan, Tiaxstan, very nice place!_

Quayle could not sing, but like Garrick he had immunity so this did not make much difference. Faldorn surprised everybody by becoming the first and (thanks to Shar-Teel’s unapologetic prejudice) only contestant to get three thumbs up. Her sad, beautiful song about the desecration of the forests left some of the audience in tears.

“I doubt you would have done so well had you had time to sing the last three verses,” muttered Cernd as they passed each other on the stage steps. “The ones about ripping down civilization and feeding the nobles of every nation to bears and wyverns?”

“Collaborator,” Faldorn purred at him. She blew him what at first he thought was a kiss, until he inhaled. Something itchy and corrosive latched onto the back of his throat. Whatever she had blown at him, he was no longer capable of singing. Or even breathing comfortably.

He hacked and choked a few useless bars before receiving a unanimous thumbs down. As he staggered from the stage toward the congregating pool of losers, Faldorn stuck out her bottom lip and waved.

Kivan, like most elves, sounded beautiful to human ears though he was considered no great talent amongst his own people. Shar-Teel, naturally, remained unmoved. Nor was she impressed by Yeslick’s dwarvern drinking song _Gold, Gold, Gold_ or Baeloth’s magically enhanced warbling. Still, at least they all avoided the pool of losers.

Finally they were down to the last two: Minsc and Xan. The ranger ambled up to the stage, cleared his throat and pulled out his hamster.

“Nice and loud Boo, so that the people can hear you. Evil witches and wizards of Thay! This is a song from Minsc’s homeland that my witch used to sing to me, but since she sings no more, Minsc taught it to his new witch. My witch sings it to us every night before bed and now we sing it to you!”

Aerie paled.

“Minsc sweetheart, I don’t think…” she trilled, but Minsc had already started.

_Soft hamster, warm hamster,_

_Little ball of fur!_

_Sleepy hamster, happy hamster,_

_Grrr, grr, grr!_

“What… the…?” Haer’Dalis muttered. He had no small interest in the sad, pretty elfling but there was undeniably something peculiar about Aerie’s relationship with Minsc.

Minsc and Boo earned an unequivocal thumbs down from Edwin and Shar-Teel, but Minsc had been the leader of Hexxat’s party. He had saved her from Dragomir’s tomb back in Athkatla and the vampire was biased. She gave him a half-hearted thumbs up.

At last it was Xan’s turn. He had never sung in front of an audience before, though sometimes alone on the road he had crept away by himself to sing the slow, mournful melodies that reminded him of Evereska.

_  
  
When Spring is come to warm the bows, and lead the wood to bloom,  
When blossom dances on the wind beneath the pale moon,  
When showers water mother earth, then lead me to my tomb.  
Leave lovers to their misplaced hope, there I await my doom.  
_

_  
When Summer lies upon the world, and casts her emerald cloak,  
O’er majestic treetops of beech and elm and oak.  
When glades stand cool and streams run dry and the breeze feels like a kiss,  
So I despair, foretell the end, and mourn for all of this.  
_

_  
When Autumn ripens berries let us harvest while we may,  
And taste the fleeting joys of life not long with us to stay.  
The leaves are red and orange but my heart is cold and grey,  
Let summer end and dark descend, we’re all doomed anyway.  
_

_  
When Winter rips her icy gale and shreds the wood apart,  
And starless night, and snowfall bright shall freeze my very heart.  
When the ground is dead and solid and no living thing does grow,  
Let us gaze on desolation, and I’ll say “I told you so.”  
  
  
When even you forsake me, my lover from the dark,  
 _This wretched world grows darker still, now you and I must part._ _

Xan released the last, sad note on a sigh, and opened one eye cautiously. The audience and his fellow competitors were staring at him with their mouths open. Something began to flutter inside of him.

For the first time in his life, singing in front of all these people, he had felt like he was where he belonged. Not once during his performance had he truly worried about his impending demise. He had shared a piece of his soul with the audience and the experience left him elated. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Xan’s mouth.

“Woah,” drawled Zaviak.

“Yeah,” agreed Aerie. “Wow.”

But it was Minsc who summed it up best. He clapped a broad palm over Xan’s shaking shoulders and said bracingly;

“Never mind! You still have your immunity from the last round!”

Scattered about the stands the sparse but growing audience started to titter.

“Can you believe it? He actually thinks he can sing!” Xan heard one of the Thayans squeal delightedly, and as he looked up at the three downward pointing thumbs high above him, another little piece of him withered inside.

* * *

**Patrons of Thay! Who do you want to see ELIMINATED?**

**VOTE NOW FOR: Branwen, Korgan, King Gramm, Tiax and Cernd!**

(Votes are counted across multiple fanfic platforms. Producers reserve the right to reinstate any contestant at any time regardless of how unfair it is or the fact that no reality audience in history has ever liked this particular party trick. Never. Seriously, I don’t understand why they do it. I think they’re just sadists who enjoy pissing us off).


	5. Round IV: The Hunger Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> **ELIMINATED:** Hexxat (disqualified), Jan (incinerated), Hayes (eaten by a tiger), Shar-Teel  
> 
> 
> **REMAINING CONTESTANTS:** Baeloth the Entertainer, Minsc, Neera, Zaviak, Aerie, Voghiln, King Gramm, Tiax, Alora, Kivan, Yeslick, Branwen, Garrick, Faldorn, Quayle, Xan, Korgan, Nalia, Cernd, Haer’Dalis

“The votes are in and by an overwhelming majority, King Gramm is eliminated,” Edwin declared in a transparently bored voice. “The shrieking of these mating vixens has permanently damaged my hearing. As the only singer to get three thumbs up, Faldorn is safe from elimination in the next round.”

Shar-Teel beamed proudly on as the three real singers; Haer’Dalis, Voghiln and Garrick, looked sulky.

That evening, a delivery arrived for the arena. The gladiators watched curiously as burlap sacks were carted by Thayan servants through the halls and toward the arena. The remaining contestants speculated as to their contents. Weapons perhaps? Or particularly nasty traps for them to fight their way around?

“No idea!” Shar-Teel snapped, when pressed. “All I know is that whatever it is the male pigs get first pick, as usual. That, and Edwin isn’t going to let me judge anymore, like that’s some terrible loss.”

“Vy are ve getting first pick?” Voghiln asked, looking up hopefully from his beer.

“Perhaps as compensation for the ridiculously biased judging of the last round?” suggested Garrick resentfully.

“Not all of you scum get first pick. Just Xan, Haer’Dalis and Baeloth.”

“What treachery is this?” cried Tiax, and soon the other men took up the cry. Faldorn watched them protest with a smug smile. Whatever the next task she, and she alone, was sure of immunity.

“Xan and Haer’Dalis get first pick because their sponsors paid for it, apparently.” Shar-Teel grimaced impatiently. “And Baeloth supposedly because he has sponsors too.”

“The audience appreciate my audacious exploits!” Baeloth beamed.

“The only person who’d sponsor an evil drow like you is Edwin!” Aerie snapped. “We all know you don’t have any real sponsors!”

The drow’s ingratiating smile did not meet his cold, calculating eyes. It was like staring down an alligator, and Aerie instinctively pushed her chair backward.

Nobody bothered to train the following day. They had no idea what they would be training to face and so, in the words of Xan, what would be the point? Instead the contenders tried to rest, ready to face whatever fresh horrors the evening would bring.

It certainly brought a larger crowd, if a respectable dozen counted as a crowd. Edwin was drumming his fingers together and chuckling. For the first time in the competition, the gladiators had been allowed to bring their own weapons, which could not be a good sign.

In the centre of the arena was a huge, cloth-covered slab. Xan eyed it with apprehension. Each contestant had a smaller table of their own to work on and a small, portable furnace. Minsc wondered aloud if they were going to be forging their own swords.

“Xan, Baeloth and Haer’Dalis are our sponsored contestants tonight!” the Red Wizard announced. “And since their lady-fans have paid so handsomely to get their hands on their buns, tonight they will get the chance!”

With a wave of his staff, the cloth covering the mysterious central table dissolved away to reveal… _bowls?_

Bowls, spoons, whisks, sieves and bulging sacks of flour. There were jugs of whipping cream, piping bags of icing, eggs from countless species of bird and every decoration you could imagine, some of which were clearly enchanted. There were sugar jewels which twinkled and gleamed like the real thing. Great fat toffees, mounds of truffles, enormous slabs of fudge and chocolate piled like gold bars. Zaviak was already eyeing a box of rainbow sprinkles and Korgan was calling dibs on a flask of honey ale. There was a very small bottle of what might be mistaken for maple syrup, but Xan’s trained eye knew it to be rarest unicorn wee. A delicacy in some cultures.

“Your task,” Edwin began, “Is to bake small sweet treats. Cookies, buns, fairy cakes; the choice is yours. Each member of the audience has been given a bag. When the time runs out, the contestants will step back and our revered guests will descend into the pits and fill their bags with whatever they wish to take away with them. Audience: you may taste the goods before you commit.”

“This doesn’t seem so bad!” perked up Aerie.

“There must be a catch,” sighed Xan. “Edwin looks far too happy.”

“There is a catch!” Edwin went on. “You are judged by the _number_ of cakes or cookies the audience take. So there is a trade-off between quality and quantity. Also, anyone whose food is deemed unsafe for audience consumption will automatically find themselves in the pool of losers.” He seemed to eye Zaviak in particular as he said this. “And using ingredients other than those supplied will result in automatic disqualification.

“Not a bad catch,” hummed Minsc, “As catches go.”

“Wait for it,” sighed Xan. “There has to be a reason we were allowed to bring our weapons.”

Edwin waved his hands theatrically and clapped them together. There was a puff of flour over Xan, Haer’Dalis and Baeloth’s tables. Xan breathed in a lungful of it and started coughing wretchedly. As the dust cleared, before the three men there appeared a healthy quantity of eggs, flour, sugar and yeast.

“Our sponsored contestants will start off with basic baking ingredients,” Edwin smiled nastily. “Anything else they want they will have to take from the supply table themselves. The rest of you start with nothing. You may not (are the thieving cockroaches even listening?) YOU MAY NOT take anything from another competitor’s table. However, at the supply table anything goes short of permanent maiming of fellow contestants. You simians will fight for your ingredients like the squabbling gibbons you are!”

“Told you,” Xan shrugged despondently.

Not all of the contestants took this as bad news. Korgan and Faldorn suddenly looked much more enthusiastic about the baking challenge. The dwarf was shifting his axe and staring at the fudge with a manic glint in his eye. Minsc too was dancing from foot to foot, eager to enter the fray.

“On your marks…” hollered Edwin. “Get set… BAKE!”

Nineteen pairs of feet charged the supply table. It was carnage. Kivan, being fleet of foot, snatched up an armful of fudge and chocolate, but met Korgan coming the other way. Too laden to reach for his bow, he was forced to duck and dodge the dwarf’s madly swinging axe, scattering half his treats over the arena floor.

Korgan hacked wildly, as Kivan backed up. At the table itself, he tripped backward over a sack of flour. The axe hacked deep into it, sending up a volcano of white as Korgan wrenched it out. Quayle, who had been gathering candied nuts close by, found himself engulfed in it. The flour stuck to his clothes, beard and glasses so that he spent the rest of the challenge stumbling about the pit like a half-blind ghost.

Eggs were trampled, bags of icing pummelled apart like pinatas. Faldorn, who had immunity, was ignoring the challenge completely and was attempting to throttle Cernd with a long rope of liquorice.

Nalia, who had no experience with cooking but quite a lot with managing food supplies, was one of the few with the presence of mind to ignore the fancier ingredients and gather the basics first. She tiptoed behind the brawling fighters with a cupful of eggs wobbling dangerously on top of her sugar bowl. While Tiax and Baeloth squabbled over the candy gems, she began cracking eggs and stirring flour. It would have been an excellent strategy, if only the poor noblewoman had any idea how much of each ingredient she ought to be adding. Or that, traditionally, one does not beat the eggshells into the mix.

Surprisingly, Zaviak managed to snatch up his coveted rainbow sprinkles and return to his bench unmolested, but having attained his prize he lost all interest in the competition. Instead he spread them out over the bench and started moving them around into careful patterns with his wild magic and saying things like: “the colours… they’re like… unreal dude.”

“Boo says that we must get our paws on some nuts. Nuts are Boo’s particular favourite. And Minsc’s too! We are making Nut Surprise!”

“Oh… I don’t know Minsc. The nuts are right near the centre,” Aerie waivered timidly.

The centre was where the fighting was fiercest. Not wishing to be disqualified, Faldorn had released Cernd before he passed out, but was now pinning him to the floor with vines. Rather than decorating cookies, she was decorating him, wedging open his mouth with hard toffees so that she could sprinkle his teeth with raw yeast.

Suddenly there was a piercing shriek and a deafening clang as Branwen brought her club down full force on Korgan’s helmeted head. The dwarf reverberated violently before falling flat on his face in the eggs, knocked out cold.

“The flooo-ur be ours!” Yeslick crowed, scooping handfuls of it into his helmet. “I’ve a wonderful recipe fer current buns. Baking is a bit like forging, and all dwarves be knowing how to forge.”

“Surely not all?” Branwen frowned, pushing her dirty blonde hair from her eyes and wondering if it was possible to be racially prejudiced against your own species.

With Korgan’s fall, and the best ingredients already taken, the mood around the supply table grew slightly more civilized. Aerie dithered in the middle of it, biting her lip and looking around her desperately.

“Oh dear, what can we bake without eggs?” Aerie fretted. “They’re all over Korgan’s face now!”

She was not the only one facing this problem. She, Minsc, Quayle, Faldorn and Yeslick were all forced to manage without them, though Yeslick did not seem to mind provided there were currants a-plenty.

“Are you certain those aren’t rat’s droppings?” Faldorn asked spitefully.

“I’m no druid, lady, but I kin tell the difference between a plop and a plum,” the dwarf retorted.

“Pity,” Faldorn sighed regretfully. “A few rat droppings would have finished off my masterpiece nicely. She left an iced-Cernd tied on the floor, like Korgan unable to compete, and gathered the few remaining ingredients to make a token effort. It was the second time in a row the shadow druid had bested him. Cernd swore inwardly that if he made it through this round there would not be a third.

There was a dull intermission between placing the buns in the oven and icing them, but Edwin had planned for this. His servants scurried along the benches peddling ridiculously overpriced drinks and a special Collector’s Edition Elimination Guide. Each page featured a glossy artists impression of one of the contestants alongside a (mostly fictitious) profile.

Aerie wilted when it was time to remove her cookies from the oven. They were as dry as charcoal and powdered under her fingers when she tried to pick them up. Without eggs, Quayle had faired little better. He tried to disguise his failure with icing, but had no experience with in the kitchen.

“No Uncle, you need to let them cool first or… oh dear…” Aerie sighed.

“See Boo! Perfection!” Minsc beamed, removing his own tray from his portable oven.

“Ah,” said Quayle, peering over the tops of his spectacles. “I see the surprise part of Nut Surprise is that it is literally just nuts.”

“Does that even count as baking?” Voghiln wondered. Edwin cocked his head to one side.

“I’ll allow it. What is the whimpering elf doing? His efforts look almost competent for the first time in our acquaintance…”

Xan had rolled his tray cake flat and was scooping dollops of whipped cream over it. He hadn’t had the heart to fight for ingredients when he had most of what he needed easily to hand, but the cream had not been a fiercely contested extra. Slowly and carefully, he rolled up his creation into a swirly roulade and cut it into thin, delicate slices.

“…might have a winner here, for the first and last time in this moping cretin’s life,” Edwin went on.

“Why won’t you rise?” Neera pleaded with her muffins. This was her first attempt at baking, and she was discovering that she didn’t like it. Her hair was more flyaway even than usual and she wore a harassed expression.

“Just use magic,” suggested Nalia. “I am.”

The wild mage glanced wistfully at the other woman’s cupcakes which (while as stodgy as porridge because she had added far too much flour) were a presentable colour and shape. She was icing them now with pretty, intricate lattices. The designs she had learned during needlework lessons with her aunt were finally, and unexpectedly, coming in handy.

“Magic it is!” panted Neera.

She murmured a swelling incantation over the determinedly concave muffins… and swell they did. Neera was forced to yank the tray free before they got so big as to explode the oven. She rested them to cool on her table, which within seconds collapsed under their ever-increasing weight.

“Stop! Stop!” Neera howled.

Yet the muffins refused to stop and Nalia was forced to move her own table out of the way as they swelled first to the size of dogs, then people, then horses. By the time they were done, the wild mage was in despair, for it would be impossible for the audience to fit one of these into their goody bags even if they wanted to.

“Three for the pool of losers so far,” smirked Edwin. “Make yourself useful elf, since you’re out of the running. Move Cernd and Korgan out of the way. Just pile them next to your muffins. That’s it.”

“Half-elf,” corrected Neera resentfully.

The sky was a glowing orange by the time the cakes were ready to test. Each contestant found themselves immobilised as the barrier spells were lifted and the Thayan audience swarmed into the pit. With delicate little steps, they picked their way about the arena sampling some food, turning their noses up at others, and every so often popping a cake or cookie into their bag.

Some of the offerings were more popular than others, and the tiefling’s flat, blackened splats were particularly unappetizing. Like a true Doomguard, Haer’Dalis had thrown a bit of everything into the bowl and let entropy take its course. He would certainly have ended up in the pool of losers, were it not for his sponsor, who bagged three of his ‘creations’ just to keep him in the game.

The dark horses in the competition turned out to be Garrick and Alora. While the others were fighting over fancy ingredients, cursing their ovens and generally making an exhibition of themselves, these two had been quietly whisking away unnoticed by the competition. Garrick’s skilful bard fingers had managed an elaborate fancy icing, like snowflakes on his biscuits. Alora’s were simple in appearance but by far the tastiest and most numerous. Both soon found their tables cleared. Likewise Minsc’s nutsacks were quickly snatched up by those in the audience who preferred savoury to sugar, much to little Boo’s dismay.

“Zaviak’s rainbow-sprinkle-zen-garden obviously does not qualify as baking,” Edwin snapped impatiently. “One brain-fried hippy for the pool of losers. This one could do with spending some time in a real pool… unwashed slob…”

Baeloth had excellent instincts when it came to crowd pleasers and had opted for simple chocolate-chip cookies with a glass of milk. With the aid of sorcery, he had done a decent job of them. He was hampered, however, by the general mistrust that surface dwellers harboured toward drow. Only two patrons were brave enough to taste something a drow had made, but this was enough to keep him safe another round.

There were a few more additions to the pool of losers. Faldorn was saved by her immunity carried over from her victory in the singing round, but Quayle and Aerie’s eggless cupcakes were scorned by the choosy Thayans.

“What is this supposed to be?” a haughty woman with pinched features demanded of Kivan, waving a knot of bread under his long nose.

“It is an elfin eventie,” the immobilised elf replied. “They bring luck and enhance the beauty of the consumer.”

“Bah! It is nothing but the bastard spawn of a donut and a pretzel!” snapped the Thayan, but she slipped four into her bag anyway.

Branwen and Voghiln caught each other’s eye, and immediately adopted a similar sales pitch. Their traditional northern fare gave the eater strength and courage according to Branwen, or ‘epic virility’ in the words of Voghiln. They were convincing enough to shift a few of their dubiously-appealing pastries and keep themselves safe.

The remaining contestants all managed a last minute rainbow cookie or butterfly-cake, stuffed into the audience’s bags once all the better offerings were gone. Nobody touched Xan’s, to his dismay, but Edwin’s spell had frozen him in such a position that he could not see why.

When the audience returned to their seats, stuffing their faces until their cheeks were as swollen as Boo’s pouches, Edwin lifted the spell. Xan looked down at his table and howled in anguish.

“My roulade!” Xan wailed. “What happened?”

Alas, like Quayle, the elf had forgotten to let his bake cool before decorating. The whipped cream had melted, drenching his sponge and transforming it into a limp, dripping pile of goo. His carefully cut slices had merged into one. A sad, drooping mess which was dripping pathetically onto the floor.

Edwin surveyed the carnage with a superior sneer.

“Alora, Garrick and Minsc win immunity!” he declared. “And now to vote off one of these worthless losers. Audience, it is once more time to go fishing in the pool of losers. One of these imbeciles must go!”

* * *

**Noble citizens of Thay!**

**VOTE NOW FOR: Cernd, Korgan, Xan, Neera, Zaviak, Aerie and Quayle!**

(Votes and sponsorship can be registered in the comments section. Votes cast after I have started writing the next chapter may not be counted but will still be charged.)


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